Invisus
by guccinarry
Summary: When Sam and Dean Winchester hit Beacon Hills, Scott McCall and his less-than-human friends know they're in trouble. But when the hunters meet the hunted, is the outcome always death and destruction, or will brotherhood and alliance come out on top?
1. The Incident

"Hello?" he called, but was greeted with silence. All to be heard was the soft whirr of the fan and his uneven, heavy panting. Another glimpse of the creeping shadow in the pale moonlight, spilled across the changing room like blood, and his breathing quickened, "Coach Finstock, is that you?" he asked, voice cracking as he backed up against the cold brick wall. Blind and helpless and unable to escape, the boy gave one last cry for help. A swift strike across the face, and his cry was silenced, scarlet blood and torn flesh thrown all over the floor. Once again, silence fell.

All to be heard was the soft whirr of the fan.

* * *

Sunday 13th of July, 2014, 1:47am; the cloud lay thick over the early morning sky, casting darkness over the highway. The air was close and uncomfortable. It hung over the the bleak planes as a veil of mist.

In the 1967 Chevrolet Impala, the Winchesters sat in uneasy muteness. With his eyes locked on the ever-stretching road ahead, Dean broke the quiet, "you're sure this is our problem, man?"  
Sam let his heavy eyelids drop and took in a deep breath, as if preparing for an oncoming battle, "Are we really going to do this again?"  
Dean shook his head but said nothing. Sam sighed, "Look, I've already told you, it's not just the killings. There's been multiple reports of unusual activity in Beacon Hills; flocks of birds flying into windows, family pets going crazy-"  
"Yeah, alright, Sam. I get it." Dean leaned forward and turned up the stereo in the hope that it would drown out his brother and the voices in his head. Bob Dylan's voice rang out into the shadows; the answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.

A few hours later, Sam and Dean pulled into a motel on the edge of town and the hum of the car engine crunched to a stop. It was lonely that morning; no-one cast their eyes on the Winchesters. Not one person. Not a soul. It was like the town was still sleeping.

Sunday 13th of July 2014, 6:50am; Sam gasped sharply, darting upright in the incommodious motel bed. Wide-eyed and damp with cold sweat, Sam reached over a shook his brother awake. "Dean," he groaned, voice deep and slow from weariness, "get up." Eventually, Dean pulled himself out of bed and went to sit with Sam, who was already researching Beacon Hills. "What the hell?" Sam muttered to himself, "dude, look at this." Dean narrowed his eyes to read the headline of the Beacon Hills Ledger which was all to prominent on the laptop screen. It read;

16-YEAR-OLD LACROSSE PLAYER MAULED TO DEATH IN BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL CHANGING ROOMS

The words were excruciating to read. Dead, at only 16. Dean furrowed his brow, "Mauled to death? _Indoors?_" he said, sounding almost as confused as a straight white boy meeting a transgender person (so you've got a dick, but you're _not _a dude?) Sam shut his laptop, hiding the words in bold as if it would make them go away permanently, just like the student that was ripped apart in the middle of a lacrosse match.

Sunday 13th of July, 2014, 7:48am; Sam and Dean strolled up to the Sheriff's office and knocked on the door. Sheriff Stilinski swung it open and scanned the towering figures that stood before him, both of whom were dressed in somewhat ill-fitting suits and presented their FBI badges to him with impressive synchronisation. "Agents," Stilinski said, lifting his arm and signalling for them to enter the office, "what can I do for you?" Dean stepped forward coolly and asked for everything they had on the death of the student. Sheriff Stilinski raised a brow, "Oh, you mean the kid that died at the lacrosse game? Wow, you guys are quick; it only happened last night," Sam and Dean exchanged a sheepish look and the Sheriff continued, "they're saying it was an animal attack. It sure does look like one, but I don't know – wild animals don't just wander into schools in the middle of sports matches without being seen. It all seems a little weird to me..." Sheriff Stilinski patted an unsatisfyingly thin file on his desk, "anyway, everything we've got is right here. You're welcome to take a look at the body." Sam took the file and started flicking through, flinching sharply at the bloody images of the victim; a promising young athlete. "Thank you, Sheriff," he said solemnly. Stilinski nodded and swung around to face the door of his office, "Well," he sighed, "welcome to Beacon Hills, agents." The Sheriff slipped through the door and Sam and Dean were alone.

* * *

Monday 14th of July, 2014, 8:30am; the piercing shriek of the school bell signalled the beginning of another week at Beacon Hills High School.

Scott McCall was gathering his things from his locker. He hadn't spoken much since the incident. No-one had. A hush had fallen over campus that no-one dared break. Stiles came rushing around the corner and confronted Scott, red-faced and flustered. Needing a minute to catch his breath, Stiles leant – doubled over – against the lockers. Scott simply observed his friend with mild concern. Finally, Stiles stood up and looked Scott dead in the eyes, "I need to talk to you," he breathed.  
"What?" Scott hissed.  
"My dad. He told me yesterday there are two FBI agents here. They're investigating the...attack."  
Scott stared blankly at Stiles, "so?"  
"_So?_" Stiles snapped, looking around and realising how much attention he was drawing to himself. The judgemental stares of his fellow students burned into him as if their eyes were hot pokers. "So," Stiles continued, lowering his voice, "if the FBI dig too deep into this case then they're going to realise it was a hell of a lot more than an animal attack. They'll uncover the shitload of supernatural stuff that goes on around here and our lives will be ruined. They'll have me in the psycho ward and you in the circus, or the zoo, or – they might even have you put down!"  
"I'm not a dog, Stiles."  
"Look, I was talking to Derek about it and-"  
"Wait, you were talking to Derek alone? Just you two? Without me?" Scott asked, looking rather uncomfortable. Stiles pressed his hand to his forehead like he was trying to regain his faith in humanity, "Yes, Scott, just me and Derek. Is there a problem?"  
"No, no, I just – I didn't think you two got on very well, that's all."  
"Well, ever since Lydia and I discovered the key for the last third of the deadpool I thought it was only right to, you know, talk to him. Anyway, I was talking to Derek about it and we thought that if we could solve the case before the FBI do then we could come up with a cover story. My dad give it to the police, the agents leave, we get on with taking down the Benefactor FBI-free and with our little secret well and truly hidden, got it?"  
"Don't you think you're being a little bit selfish? Stiles, a boy just died and-"  
"Scott!" Stiles said, being embarrassingly loud. Scott shivered and shut his eyes tight, hoping Stiles would be gone by the time he opened them. It was too early for this. "Okay, okay. So we just solve the case before the FBI do and give them a cover story?" Scott said.  
"Yes."  
"Okay, so... should we go tell the others?"  
Stiles grabbed Scott's shoulder and swung him round with unnecessary force, "yup. Come on. Let's go."  
"What's this got to do with the FBI, anyway?" Scott asked as Stiles hurried him down the now deserted corridor.  
"No idea."


	2. Plan A

"You know, I was studying at his house last week. We were talking about lacrosse and movies and girls, like normal teenage boys do. I don't understand why anyone would want him dead." Liam said, staring into the distance as if in some kind of weird trance, eyes glazed over. Lydia had her arm wrapped around Liam and patted his shoulder in a half hearted attempt to cheer him up. She knew there was nothing she could do, really. Liam suddenly snapped out of his sort-of-trance and threw his head in hands, "he was my friend," he managed to say through choking tears. Scott slumped onto the bench next to Liam and his gaze dropped to the floor, as if out of respect to the grieving boy, and spoke softly, "Liam, I know this probably the last thing you want to hear right now, man, but we've got another problem on our hands-"  
"A very big problem!" Stiles interjected loudly before Malia gave him a violent shove to shut him up.  
"Er, yeah," Scott continued, "there are FBI agents here to investigate the case,"  
"What?" Lydia snarled, "in what way is this their problem?"  
"Yeah, we don't know," said Stiles, "but what we do know is that if they dig too deep into this case and realise that there's some Paranormal Activity type shit going down, we're going to be locked up somewhere and it won't be pretty. Plus, the Benefactor will be running free and he'll kill every name on the deadpool, which will also not be pretty."  
Liam sniffed and peered up at Stiles, "so, what are you expecting us to do about it?"  
Scott and Stiles glanced at each other; "well, we have a plan," explained Scott, "if we find whatever did this – whether it be a Werewolf, Werejaguar, Werecoyote or something completely different – before the FBI do, we can come up with a cover story that Stiles' dad can give to the FBI so they get off our backs."  
"Am I the only one who thinks that sounds like a pretty shitty plan?" asked Malia, her eyes darting around the group to see if anyone else felt the same. Instead, they were just staring at her with judgement in their eyes.  
Stiles shot a dramatic look at Malia to show his offence, "It's not the best plan I've ever had, but it's all we've got, okay?"  
"We've already got Kate, the Benefactor, and the death of a fellow student to deal with; I could do without the FBI adding to the list of issues," Kira said, "so I say we give Stiles' plan a shot."

After what seemed like hours of arguing against Malia's 'why don't we just kill them both?' mindset, they all agreed to follow Stiles' plan and meet at Derek's place after school (Lydia wasn't very happy about this; she thinks Derek's house smells like wet dog). There was one thing they could all agree on; this was going to be a long term.

* * *

"Okay, so this boy has been killed in the high school changing rooms, but we don't know who or what did it?" Derek asked with indifference, as if he'd gone through this a thousand times before (which he had).  
Stiles leant back on the cold brick and sighed, "yeah."  
Derek looked around at the group of disheartened and exhausted teenagers and realised they weren't really getting anywhere. "Wouldn't we be better off talking to Deaton about this?"  
Scott shrugged, "that would be of some use if we actually had the body-"  
"Which we don't." Stiles called from somewhere in the back of the room. The kid was always making unnecessary comments and Derek rolled his eyes. Determined to make some progress, Derek took a deep breath in and swung around to face Stiles, who was leaning rather casually against the wall. "Stiles, how much do you know about this kid's past?"  
"Not much. We never really talked," Stiles said with a shake of his head, "but my dad has records on basically everybody. I could sneak into his office and take a look at his file."  
Derek's eyes lingered on Stiles' lanky frame resting against the wall and the corners of his mouth curled upwards slightly. One could argue he smirked at him. "Sounds great. You do that." Derek turned away from Stiles once again, "as for me; I'll come and meet you guys every day after school for the next few weeks. That way, I can use my werewolf hearing to listen out for anything suspicious, and you guys can tell me anything you find out without having to trek to my house which, _apparently, _is not the most pleasant place to spend an evening." The grumpy wolf shot Lydia and narrow-eyed look. Lydia shrugged, "I could use my banshee powers to find out if anyone else is going to die." Lydia sighed and furrowed her brow, "I'll probably need to go to the crime scene though, or at least take a look at something that belonged to him."  
"I can get you something." Liam assured her.  
"Right, okay. Not much of a plan but it's a start..." Derek said under his breath.  
"Hey! What about us?" Scott threw his hands up with indignation, "can't we help?" Faint murmurs came from Kira and Malia, who were nodding fiercely in agreement.  
Derek raised an eyebrow. "Use your acute senses to find out anything suspicious at school and help defend it from another attack,"  
"If there is one." Stiles added.  
"Yeah," Derek almost smiled, "and help the others."  
Stiles purposely gave a loud cough and Derek flinched as it echoed around the room. "Not that Stiles needs help," he hissed with a clenched fist and dramatic eye roll.

Stiles looked especially pleased with himself as they all bustled out of Derek's place. They still had no idea who maimed an innocent young boy, but at least they knew what they had to do now. At least they felt like they were helping.

"Oh, shit!" Stiles cried as he and Scott were making their way home.  
Scott jumped slightly and frowned at his over-dramatic friend. "What the hell?" he snapped.  
"We forgot to tell Derek about the FBI agents. That was, like, the whole point of us going."  
Scott didn't reply for a moment, he just stared blankly into the distance, as if in disbelief that they could've been so stupid. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. We'll tell him next time." Scott tried to sound positive.  
"But, we need his help-"  
"Nah," Scott sounded confident, but Stiles wasn't sure if that was how he truly felt, "We got this, right?"  
"Yeah, we got this."

* * *

**Guys, I know this is probably the shortest chapter in the history of all chapters, and I'm really sorry. I haven't had much time recently, but I thought it was about time I updated! Hope you enjoy this even though it's not very long (and a little boring). Thank you all for being so patient. :) - _Lucy xx_**


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